The Devastators

chapter TWENTY

It wasn't much of a question-and-answer session. At the start, at least, she asked nothing that I couldn't readily answer. I'm not a Hollywood hero, and I'm not about to get beat up just to prove how tough I am. I've never subscribed to the theory that you've got to refuse to tell a Communist something just because he-or she-asks.

If Madame Ling wanted to know what message Walling had conveyed to me through Nancy Glenmore, if I had reported this information to Washington, and if they'd had any luck with it, I saw no reason not to tell her-particularly since she'd probably already got the dope from Vadya, over the phone, the night before. She was just checking us against each other. When she got to the exact purpose of my mission here, the situation got a little tougher. I hadn't yet decided what was the best way to handle that.

"I came to find Dr. McRow," I said, stalling.

"We know that," Madame Ling said. "My question concerned what you are supposed to do when you find him."

"Didn't Vadya tell you?"

"The Russian girl can hardly be considered a reliable source of information, Mr. Helm, either as to her own motives or as to yours…

There was a knock at the door. The dark-faced man, stationed against it, glanced at Madame Ling. When she nodded, he turned to open. It occurred to me that he was getting on my nerves a little. I wished she would at least call him by a name, so I could have a handle to think of him by. I wished he would express an opinion on something. After all, I knew he could talk if he wanted to. I'd heard him. Well, maybe he just had nothing to say right now.

He pulled the door open, and McRow entered, carrying a couple of flasks, a jar of absorbent cotton, a pair of tweezers, and a hypodermic needle, all neatly arranged on a folded white towel on a stainless steel tray.

"You can put it on the desk, Doctor," Madame Ling said. "Go right ahead. You might explain to Mr. Helm the nature of the experimental program in which he is participating."

McRow didn't look at me. He used the tweezers to extract a wad of cotton, which he dunked in a liquid that was presumably alcohol.

"We are trying to determine the efficacy of a serum," he said, coming over to me and shoving the sleeve up my left arm with his free hand. "I'm about to inject… This man has already received an injection of some kind today, Madame," he said quickly, looking up. "There's a puncture, and slight inflammation of the surrounding tissue."

"Well, use the other arm," she said. "It was only an antidote to a drug he'd been given."

"It could affect his powers of resistance."

She shrugged. "Use him anyway. We have too little data as it is." She glanced at me. "You understand, Mr. Helm, right now you are being inoculated against the disease. In a few hours you will be infected with the culture. You will then, if our previous experience is a guide, have about sixty per cent chance of surviving."

"Sixty point five," McRow said, "according to our present figures, which however cannot be trusted beyond the first digit, since they represent a sample of only twenty-eight."

I made the calculation in my head. "That means that seventeen have lived and eleven have died so far."

Madame Ling smiled approvingly. "You are quick with figures. Of course, we are speaking only of those who were inoculated. Of our first control group of twenty-those who were infected without first receiving the serum-none have lived, but Dr. McRow estimates that, with adequate medical attention, five out of one hundred could possibly recover. These are the figures I mentioned to you earlier."

Well, people were dying all over the world, one way or another. I wasn't about to break into tears because a few more had succumbed to a cold-blooded medical experiment; but a small show of indignation seemed advisable.

"Twenty and twenty-eight is forty-eight," I said. "Where did you get all these human subjects?"

I was speaking to the woman, but it was McRow who answered, nastily: "You might say they volunteered. They were nosy-parkers who tried to interfere with my work, like you. I warned them! I warned everybody! I'm not going to spend my whole life working for pennies and having other people make millions from my discoveries!"

Under other circumstances, he would have sounded ridiculous: a peevish little boy complaining that life was unfair.

I said, "Forty-eight nosy-parkers is a lot of nosy-parkers. Are you sure Madame Ling didn't round you up a few strays on the side, people who weren't doing anything to harm you but just happened to be handy?"

He didn't say anything, but jabbed his needle into my right arm harder than seemed necessary. He knew damn well that all of his subjects hadn't been hostile agents, but he wasn't admitting it, even to himself.

His attitude gave me a hint of how to handle him, and I said, "Well, you might as well be getting used to it, I guess. After all, you're going to murder millions before you're through, aren't you?" His head came up angrily. I grinned, and went on smoothly, "Oh, hell, I'm not criticizing, man. I make my living at it myself. As a matter of fact, I came here to kill you."

I was glad I had waited until he'd got the hypo out of my arm, because he'd undoubtedly have broken it off, the way he jumped. His reaction told me I was on the right track: this wasn't a man to be tricky with, this was a man to lean on hard, just like Basil. Madame Ling and her Eastern cohorts, and the silent, dark-faced man were tough enough, but apparently they'd had to make do with some fairly mushy Western help.

McRow licked his lips. "But I… I thought you were an American agent!"

"So?"

"But surely… I mean, we don't employ assassins, do we?"

I laughed. "Look who's calling who names! And who's this 'we' you're talking about? Surely you don't still consider yourself an American citizen?" I grinned at him. "You, my friend, are a fool. What do you think is going to happen to you? Are you figuring on making a hundred million dollars with this lady's help, and restoring the old family plantation-well, castle-and settling down to be a wealthy Scottish laird in kilts and sporran?" His eyes wavered, and I knew I'd hit close. As Madame Ling had said, he had his fantasies. I said harshly, "Let me give you some advice, Doc, as one murderer to another. I see our taciturn friend has put the stuff he got from my pockets right there on the desk. There should be a nice little knife, about four inches in the blade. It's good and sharp. I don't see my gun anywhere, so why don't you just take that knife, Doc, and cut your throat, and save everybody a lot of trouble?"

He snapped: "Save you a lot of trouble, you mean!"

"Me," I said, "or the guys who'll come after me, if I fail. I figure there'll be about ten million of them."

"What do you mean?"

I said, "Well, I was just using your figures, Doc. You estimate your stuff will kill around ninety-five per cent, isn't that right? There are about two billion people in the world. After ninety-five per cent of them are dead, there'll still be around ten million left. And every damn one of them will be looking for Dr. Archibald McRow with a gun in his hand, or a knife, or a stone club, or nothing at all but the bare fingers and the homicidal impulse. You'll be the most unpopular man on this depopulated planet, amigo."

He laughed uneasily. "You're being ridiculous. Of course, unless we're forced to, we're not really going to-"

"You may not be," I said, "but she is."

I sensed, rather than saw, Madame Ling stir slightly. The nameless man at the door had also moved, as if to step forward and silence me, but she'd signaled him to lay off. She was watching McRow. He glanced at her, and looked back to me.

"You're crazy!" he cried. "Madame Ling is merely taking precautions against outside interference-"

"Sure," I said. "She's got this place rigged with more remote control gadgets than a space probe, to hear her tell it. She's going to be on the ship's radio thirty-six hours a day, after she leaves here, giving orders and ultimatums and pushing buttons like a church organist doing hot licks from Hayden. I never heard a grown woman talk so much science-fiction nonsense in my life." I glanced at Madame Ling. "Oh, don't get me wrong, Madame. I enjoyed every minute of the performance. It was real great."

She did not move. She'd thrown aside the mink coat, and she was wearing a figured silk tunic above the narrow pants. She was smiling faintly as if she found me amusing, too amusing to stop, at least not while I was doing good work for her. After all, she'd have to break the news to him pretty soon; and this way she could study his reactions while I did the talking for her.

McRow licked his lips again. "But… but I don't understand."

I said, "Hell, sonny, there's no remote-control stuff here. There's just that black lever on the wall, which she'll pull just before she goes out the door and down to the boat which will take her out to the much-advertised ship. Since she's so insistent it's a ship, it's probably a plane or submarine, probably the latter. They've got a few, I've heard, not the latest atomic jobs, but adequate.

Good enough to take her-under strict radio silence, of course-to the coast of Europe, where she'll land a load of your infected rats, and then across the Atlantic where she'll dump a big consignment on the North American continent, and maybe a small one in South America. And then home to the Orient, to manufacture serum like mad, and try to improve it with the help of one McRow, and inoculate as many of her people as possible-the politically sound people, of course; the others can go to hell- before your hopped-up Black Death works its murderous way around the world, leaving only one country in any kind of shape to take over…"

I was watching the woman's delicate, smiling face; and I saw that I was right on the beam. I saw her finger move. I didn't see the dark-faced man move-I wasn't looking that way-but I heard him. There was no point in dodging. Where could I go? I just hoped he was good at his work, and he was. The blow put me out instantly, with hardly any pain at all.